


Blotmath with Brandybucks

by Aria_Breuer



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 14:48:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8628517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_Breuer/pseuds/Aria_Breuer
Summary: Frodo Baggins’ first Blotmath feast after losing his parents couldn’t have been more unexpected. But could he go through with the party? Is he even ready for the crowds to come? No slash. Happy Thanksgiving.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimers:** All canon material from The Lord of the Rings trilogy belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema. All original material belongs to the author of this fanfiction story.
> 
> Thanks to LadyLindariel for helping me with what game birds the Hobbits would eat during one of their Blotmath festivals.

Frodo Baggins looked himself in the mirror for the second time that morning. He was still the same twelve-year-old lad who lost his parents. And so recent… all right. He could admit it had been since the spring when he lost them. And yet… a tear trickled down his face, which he quickly brushed off his cheek.

“Well,” Frodo said to his reflection. “Here we go.” He told the mirror. “Don’t look at me like that! This is a happy day. Isn’t it?” He spun around at the feeble knock against his bedroom door. It was none other than his cousin. His uncle Saradoc. What did he want? “Uncle.”

“Frodo.” Saradoc gazed at their reflections. “You’ll be fine. Just remember to perk up and be you.”

Frodo darted after his cousin out the door. “Uncle, what do mean? I’m fine. I’m presentable.”

“Yes, I know you are.” Saradoc said.

“There you are, Frodo!” Esmeralda spoke up, rushing to give Frodo a tight bear hug. “You feeling better? I know this is hard for you.”

“I’m fine.” Frodo said. He knew he wasn’t, but still… “Where am I sitting?” He surprised himself with his bravery.

“Right beside me.” Esmeralda said. “Come on, cousin. Here.”

“Thank you,” Frodo said, sitting down. The table was crowded with Brandybucks. He wasn’t surprised. Then again, seeing all the wonderful food and drinks was enough to make his mouth water. Soon, he forgot his pain – for however long that lasted – and enjoyed hearing stories from his relatives to playing with his younger cousins. It felt nice and quiet.

“Come on, Frodo!” One of the hobbit lasses called. “The bonfire’s starting!”

He didn’t want to miss that. “Coming!” He searched one of his chests for something. Tools… no. Rope… no. Saucepan… where did that go? Handkerchief… he wondered where that belonged, too. It wasn’t his handkerchief. Ladle! No. What was he looking for?

“Looking for this,” Saradoc said, brandishing an iron poker. “Come on. You can help us cook the pheasant.” Frodo closed his chest’s lid, locked it tight, before following his uncle down the hallway. “We caught a few big pheasants. Your mother was taught how to cook the meat properly, but it’s a learning curve on this day, using bonfires.”

Frodo grinned. He hadn’t seen his Uncle Saradoc so happy before. Must have been a family trait. Then again, he was looking forward to see pheasant cooked. He hadn’t had the game bird in a long time. The last time he had it was when his parents were still alive. Frankly, he wasn’t very fond of the game bird, but he ate it nonetheless. Still…

“We have other selection of meat available.” Saradoc told him. “Don’t be too alarmed, as I told you in the spring. You’re welcome to have what you like. We Brandybucks are a large family. You have whatever you wish.”

“Like chicken?” Frodo asked, perking up.

“You aren’t fond of pheasant then, I take it,” Saradoc asked.

“Not really,” Frodo said. “I mean, I’ll eat it, but…”

“Frodo, stick with the chicken,” Saradoc said.

“No. I’ll think I’ll eat pheasant,” Frodo said, modest.

“If you’re sure…” Saradoc said, opening the front door for him.

“Well, I’ll eat both. If that helps,” Frodo said.

“Eat whatever you want,” Saradoc told him.

“Here they are!” Esmeralda cried in excitement. “Frodo, Saradoc, the pheasant is cooked and ready. If you’ll head out and get your plates filled up, we’ll begin.”

In truth, after eating the first bite, Frodo found the pheasant was cooked the way he wanted it to be. His natural instinct told him to eat the chicken he had on his plate, too. Somehow, his stomach was satisfied to last… well, however long it took. But what made the night special was watching the fireworks display by the Brandywine River. He clapped and cheered with his relatives. Yes, this had been a good Blotmath festival, complete with dances, drinks, more food and merry cheer.

Did Frodo forget the dessert? Of course not, for he was given a slice of raspberry pie and strawberry tart cakes from his aunt and cousins. Indeed, Frodo was well-fed and slept peacefully that evening. For indeed, he approved of his aunt and uncle’s celebration of Blotmath. He felt sure there would be many other festivities to come. He couldn’t get enough of partying. Indeed, it helped ease his mind of the pain he went through after losing his parents. In that, he wondered if his mother and father were looking down on him with open hearts and full bellies.

He knew he was full and that was all right. It was all right with him.

“Happy Blotmath!” Frodo whispered, as the folds of sleep took his mind to other places and to many more parties he could only imagine occurring on such a bright evening as this. He was a very happy hobbit, to say the least.

The End.


End file.
